Horns
by Moe Machina
Summary: Dycedarg and Zalbag go riding in a hunt with a future queen.


**HORNS**

A hound howled.

"That sounded close," Zalbag said. Around them, the forest was dark and deep. They had long since lost sight of the rest of the hunt.

Dycedarg smiled. "It sounds no closer than the last time."

Larg sullenly hunched further into his cloak. "Perhaps the dogs have run a mole to ground."

A second hound howled, and Zalbag brought his chocobo to a halt. "No, they've picked up the trail. It's to the north."

Larg spat to the side. "It was to the south an hour ago. Those hounds are chasing their own shadows."

Zalbag glanced at his brother. Dycedarg did not sigh, but a suggestion of weariness appeared in his posture. "Come, Larg," he said, "what is this? You have been in evil spirits all day."

"I started the day amiably enough, Dycedarg. But after hours of being dragged from one corner of this forest to the other by a pack of idiot dogs while the rain falls down my neck, all in the pursuit of a faerie tale...well, the experience has begun to wear on me."

"So you do not believe we will find our quarry?"

"God's teeth, Dycedarg -- you know as well as I that Ruvelia would have us hunt the moon if she thought it would be amusing. Ruvelia is just delighted to be able to make us participate in this absurd stunt. Of course, I'm not surprised that she would organize a hunt for the creature. The gods know that she could not summon one herself."

Zalbag bit the inside of his lip, and the other members of Larg's retinue wore identical expressions of careful impassivity. Dycedarg alone appeared unruffled by Larg's words.

"Perhaps you should suggest that moon idea to your sister. I suspect she would find it most diverting."

Larg gave Dycedarg an incredulous look and then, reluctantly, the corners of his mouth turned up. "God's blood, I will _not_. Can you imagine what will happen if _that_ idea sinks its teeth into Ruvelia? We shall find ourselves knee-deep in star-charts and tide-maps. She would make us build a scaffold to reach the heavens. It would be like that time when she were twelve -- do you remember? -- and she was determined that we would build that awful catapult. My leg took the whole summer to heal! No, Dycedarg," Larg said, and he was laughing now, "no, absolutely not. The moon would be the absolute death of us. I forbid you to mention it to her."

"Ah, well," Dycedarg said. "I will labor to forget it."

A hound howled to the east.

"They've found the trail," Zalbag said impatiently.

"It is another shadow," Larg said, but his voice was less peevish than it had been before. "Oh, well. Come along and let us see where it leads us."

It led them to more trees and more stillness. They had started the hunt that morning as one enormous company, but as the day wore on, they had begun to fracture into smaller groups. Zalbag had not seen another hunter for several hours; he had not seen a dog since that morning. They moved alone through a muffled world. The ground underneath was carpeted with wet leaves. The green canopy overhead was thick and dark. The birds were silent; the insects were silent. The only noise came from the creak of a saddle, the rustle of feathers, and -- in the distance, always from a new direction -- the sound of a dog picking up a trail.

So complete was the quiet that the sound of human voices from ahead was sudden, shocking, and nearly blasphemous.

Then the sensation faded, and Zalbag recognized a voice.

"Father!" he cried, rising in his saddle.

"And Ruvelia," Larg said with a sigh.

"Oh, good," Dycedarg said languidly. "Some company."

They cantered forward and entered a clearing where a small group of hunters and their retinues stood waiting. Ruvelia was seated on a dainty pink chocobo, and the silver-haired Elmdor, Marquis of Limberry, was next to her. Two rather fat noblemen were sitting on the grass and passing a small hamper back and forth as they rooted through its contents. One young page was climbing a tree.

Standing to one side, Balbanes Beoulve was talking to a young noblewoman wearing an eyepatch, but he broke off the conversation when he saw his sons.

"Zalbag! Dycedarg! How goes the hunt?"

"Splendidly," Dycedarg said. "We've killed a score of manticores, a brace of cockatrices, and one or two mermaids. And yourself?"

One of the fat noblemen began to laugh, although an unfortunate bite of pastry brought an end to his giggles and forced his companion to pound on his back until he could breathe again. Balbanes arched a warning eyebrow at his firstborn, but before he could say anything, someone else spoke.

"What was that, Dycedarg?" Ruvelia urged her small chocobo to stalk forward and stand beside the Beoulves. "What were you saying about my hunt?"

"Nothing, milady. Merely that we had not yet found the specific fantastic beast that you sought, but it is surely only a matter of time."

"Indeed?" Ruvelia had pink cheeks and a high, lovely forehead, but her eyes were small and hard, and she smelled -- to Zalbag's nose, at least -- overpoweringly of violets. "Do you doubt that we will find it? I thought you believed in faerie tales, Dycedarg."

"Ah, but I do, milady. But because I pay attention to faerie tales, I know that you cannot hunt this faerie tale with a brace of boar spears and the master of the hunt's hounds. Perhaps, if we wreathed our swords with flowers and bells, and if we brought along a golden bridle and a virtuous -- ah, well, it does not matter, because we brought only the boar spears."

Ruvelia sucked in her breath, and she stared at Dycedarg with eyes as thin and hard as dagger points.

"Dycedarg," Balbanes said sharply, "I wonder if you might show Elmdor your sword."

"My sword?"

"Yes," Balbanes said. "I told him it came from the east, and he was most curious about its hilt. _Go_ show him your sword, Dycedarg."

Dycedarg's eyelids lowered dangerously, but he nodded briefly to his father and to Ruvelia before urging his chocobo toward the Marquis at the other end of the clearing.

Ruvelia turned her head away. "What a frankly spoken son you have, Lord Balbanes."

"He is overly pert, milady. I pray that you will pay him no heed." Balbanes glanced at Zalbag, and his expression lightened. "How has this day found you, Zalbag? Did you know, milady, that he will be joining me in the east next year? It will be his first military campaign."

"Indeed?" Ruvelia opened her eyes very wide. "Well, I am sure that you will be a great help in this long-fought war. But, of course, I know that you will be. It seems that bravery runs through the very veins of the Beoulves."

"I think Zalbag is the bravest member of our clan," Balbanes said. "Did you know, he never cried as a child? Whatever happened, he would just grit his teeth and endure it. No tears, never. He has been brave since birth, and he will be a fine addition to our forces."

Balbanes smiled at Zalbag, and Zalbag felt his face flush hotly. At the other end of the clearing, Dycedarg was dutifully showing his sword to the Marquis. The Marquis, who wore an habitual expression of boredom, now appeared nearly comatose.

"Have I shown you my hunting horn, Lord Balbanes?" Ruvelia asked.

"No, milady, but I have been admiring it. Is that the royal seal?"

Ruvelia dimpled. "It is a present from His Highness, Prince Omdoria. I am told that it has a most penetrating sound. The prince was sorely vexed that he was not able to join us, and he bid me bring his horn, so that he might still play some little role in my hunt. It was a very pretty speech." She glanced sidelong at Zalbag. "Isn't it pretty, Lord Zalbag?"

"Yes," Zalbag said absently. He was looking toward his brother.

Ruvelia uttered a high-pitched trill of laughter. "Well, you don't share your brother's tongue, at least. I suppose we should all be thankful for that. Come, Lord Balbanes , I find that I am _quite_ refreshed. Let us proceed. I think -- yes, there it is! The hounds have picked up the scent!"

"God's teeth, not again," said Larg, who was now seated between the fat noblemen. He had a cheese tart in his hand. "I refuse to believe it, Ruvelia. My hopes have been dashed too many times before."

"Come, silly," Ruvelia said briskly. "Come ride alongside me, and you shall be the one to strike the death-blow when I blow the royal horn."

"I am not optimistic," Larg said, but he stuffed the remaining half-tart in his mouth and climbed atop his chocobo. "But lay on, Ruvelia. I serve at your pleasure."

"Good luck and God's grace, Zalbag," Balbanes said. "The next time I see you, I hope this eternal hunt has come to an end."

Elmdor had already disappered into the trees, although the Marquis might have been fleeing Dycedarg as much as he was following the hunt. Zalbag watched his brother lazily stretch in his saddle as the fat noblemen struggled to mount their chocobos and the other hunters went after Ruvelia's lead in ones and twos.

Slowly the clearing emptied until only the two Beoulve brothers stood there.

"Well, brother?"

"Well, brother."

"What did Elmdor think of your sword?"

Dycedarg smiled without amusement. "Given Elmdor's collection of exotica and rarities, I think he found my sword to be pretty thin gruel indeed. It does have a nice edge, and the hilt _is_ a little unusual, but I doubt he has been longing to see such an artifact of the east. For which I do not blame him, for these swords are plentiful over there. You will no doubt collect a few yourself, next year, when you go."

Zalbag said nothing, and his chocobo moved restlessly beneath him.

Somewhere, toward the east, a hound howled.

"Do you think that they will find our quarry?"

Dycedarg laughed. "Larg and Ruvelia? No. Soon they will grow bored with this game, and then they will argue about something foolish, and then each will storm home to sulk and stew. By supper, they will have made up; by tomorrow, they will have forgotten all about this hunt and will have some bold new scheme to try. They are as inconstant as butterflies, you know. They can cleave to nothing long enough to accomplish it."

"Surely Larg remains."

"I doubt it. I imagine he was the first to return for luncheon today. Larg treasures his own comfort. Besides, Larg is no more fit to find the beast than his sister is. None of us are, I suppose."

Zalbag turned away from his brother to scan the woods around them. "You are very critical of your comrades, Dycedarg. Why do you keep so close to them if you have such a low view of them?"

"It isn't a low view," Dycedarg said, rubbing his nose thoughtfully. "Tis simply a clear view. If I were to limit my companionship to the very saints of the earth, well...I should be a very lonely hermit, I think."

"All virtue is lonely," Zalbag said quietly.

"Is it?" Dycedarg said curiously. "Haven't you ever wanted--"

"No," Zalbag said firmly.

"Not everyone values silent cathedrals and cold beds as much as you do, Zalbag," Dycedarg said dryly. "You are welcome to such virtue, although I'm surprised that you can bear such a heavy weight. It must be hard."

Zalbag said nothing, and another hound howled in the east.

Dycedarg sighed through his nose. "How much longer will you remain, brother?"

"Until the hunt is called," Zalbag said.

"Why? I know that you, like Larg, do not believe in this faerie tale."

"Neither does our father," Zalbag said simply. "But we have committed to do this thing, and so we will do it. There is honor in performing a duty, even if that duty accomplishes nothing, even if I do not understand it."

"Is there? Ah, Zalbag, Zalbag. You are so young."

Zalbag turned away. "Come. I hear the hounds."

They had gone less than a league when they found the ruins. Zalbag brought his chocobo to a stop and frowned down at the tumbled remains of stone walls among the green trees.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Oh," Dycedarg said, coming up behind him. "One of the old Yudoran forts. See, there's where the entrance would have been. I hadn't heard of any Yudoran structures still existing in these woods, though. They are more common in the south."

"A strange place for a fort," Zalbag said. "Difficult to defend."

"I suppose, but the Yudorans would not have cared about that. They built wherever their dowsing rods told them to build. There is probably a source of water nearby. They would have considered that vital and necessary for their rites." Dycedarg squinted speculatively at the ruins. "In fact... Hold on, Zalbag. I want to check something."

Dycedarg swung down from his chocobo and, crouching down, began to scrape away at the lichen that spilled across some fallen stones. Zalbag watched him without expression. The only sound in the silent forest came from the noise of Dycedarg's knife and the quiet murmur of moving water.

A hound howled to the west.

Zalbag leaned forward, but he did not see the source of the water. He urged his chocobo forward, and they moved to the left, past the lines of the fallen fort.

Behind them, Dycedarg was murmuring thoughtfully to himself. "An interesting carving... Curious..."

Zalbag found the stream hidden behind a sudden dip in land behind the ruins. It was a small stream, but its waters ran clear and quickly. Zalbag dismounted and allowed his chocobo to drink.

A hound howled to the south.

Zalbag paced along the narrow bank of the stream. It was not that he resented being sent on a fool's errand. He was a loyal son, and he was a loyal vassal. His father had wished him to come here and show his face at court, and so Zalbag had obliged. His father had wished him to join the hunt, and so he had joined. It did not matter, Zalbag thought to himself, if he thought the royal court to be peopled with gaudy dolls, and it did not matter that he thought the purpose of the hunt to be rather silly. He was an obedient tool of higher powers, and he did not question their intents.

A hound howled to the east.

Dycedarg had conducted himself scandalously all week. He donned a role of heavy-lidded disdain crossed with irreverence; his utterances made the court giggle and Zalbag blush. Dycedarg spent long hours closeted with Prince Larg and -- Zalbag darkly suspected -- Larg's hard-eyed sister. In public, Dycedarg was all smiles and courtesy to them; in private, to Zalbag, he mocked them mercilessly.

Dycedarg had not slept in his own bed yesterday night, and when he had appeared that morning, when the hunt gathered, Zalbag had recognized with horror and revulsion the violet perfume that lingered around him.

What did their father think? What did their father notice? Worse than the behavior of his brother was, to Zalbag, the thought of their father's reaction. Zalbag had gone to chapel every morning, and every morning he had prayed that Balbanes would not see what lay before his nose. Zalbag prayed for blindness.

If he could have, Zalbag would have taken a spear-thrust in the place of his brother. It would have been easy to offer his life in sacrifice. Instead he stood silent and culpable in his brother's slow corruption. Every morning, Zalbag offered his own virtue in sacrifice, and it galled him.

Zalbag's pacing had taken him closer to the ruins of the fort, and he heard the sound of voices.

"I meant what I said this morning."

"I know you meant it."

"Then why did you say those ridiculous things today?" It took Zalbag a moment to recognize Ruvelia's voice, and his heart froze within him. He crept cautiously up the bank.

"Because Elmdor was peering at us, and because my father was there. My dear, I should think that, after everything we both said this morning, you would support the semblance of discord. Aren't your plans easier if everyone thinks we're enemies?"

Zalbag stopped. From his vantage point, he could see Dycedarg and Ruvelia standing at the entrance of the ruins. He could also see that they were alone. There was no sign of the other hunters.

"No, they would be easier if you would just behave as you always did. God's liver, Dycedarg! I suspect you of jealousy!"

"Of course I'm jealous," Dycedarg said flatly. "I am absolutely prone with rage and grief at the idea that you will give your heart to another, and never more will we bill and coo like morning doves. Oh, alas, that such an evil day has arrived. I may drown myself. Prepare to drag the river, my little cabbage."

"Oh, shut up," Ruvelia said wearily. "I know you don't love me, and you know I don't love you. Don't be such a toad, Dycedarg."

"Very well. Why are you encouraging the Marquis? That goes against the original plan."

"Yes, but I need it to appear that I am being courted on _many_ fronts. I need to _goose_ Omdoria into proposing, Dycedarg. If he is left to his own placid devices, he will never get around to it."

"You need to convince his mother that you are a suitable queen, Ruvelia. This is a match that will be made over the bargaining table, not in some moonlit garden."

"No, I think his mother is a lost cause. She will never embrace me. I appreciate your attempts to engineer every blessed thing, but my way is better. Women know these things."

"Ah, but what shall I do with my time if I am not devising dark plots on your behalf, Ruvelia?"

"I commend you to my brother, Dycedarg. You may plot away for him."

"But you must concede, my dear, that this hunt _was_ a rather good idea."

"Yes, true, you did well. The fact that I could inspire Omdoria to declare this hunt based merely on one of my whims...well, it has quite cowed my rivals at court. My star has risen enormously. It is merely too bad that Omdoria could not accompany the hunt, and that I could not accompany him."

"Ah, well, I refuse to accept blame for that. Who could expect him to catch a cold _now_?"

"He is very susceptible to colds."

"You had best catch him, Ruvelia, before he finally succumbs for the last time."

Ruvelia giggled, and Zalbag turned away. He walked back the way he had come. Around him, the forest seemed to squeeze more intimately around him.

Standing before God, Zalbag had sacrificed his virtue every morning, and now he was empty.

A hound howled to the north, and then another howled close behind it. Zalbag looked up in surprise and saw the unicorn.

The unicorn was not beautiful. It had the body of a goat; it had the head of a nightmare. Its fur was a dull gray, going bald in patches, and its cloven hooves brushed the edge of the stream. It had a mouth of grinning wolf-teeth. Red eyes blinked stupidly at Zalbag.

Zalbag did not move.

The unicorn took an ungainly step toward Zalbag, and then another. Zalbag's eyes were fixed on the unicorn's horn, which was covered in blood.

The unicorn took another step.

In Zalbag's frozen brain, he seemed to hear Dycedarg say, "_If we wreathed our swords with flowers and bells, and if we brought along a golden bridle and a virtuous maiden..._"

The unicorn's horn pierced Zalbag's chest.

Zalbag screamed. The unicorn, blinking stupidly, stood watching him.

For a moment, Zalbag felt an incredible pain, and then he felt nothing at all. Everything was wet and silent as the light faded around him, as if he were falling backwards through some dark sea.

Silence and then voices, blasphemous voices, in the distance.

"There's nothing to be done."

"Be quiet and help me."

A low murmur and then, "No, I won't."

"You will."

"How will I explain _my_ presence here?"

"I don't care in the slightest. You may say that you happened upon us by merest chance. _But you will do it._"

Silence. Zalbag floated in darkness. It would be nice to sleep. Sleep was safe, sleep was clean, sleep was pure.

The horn, when it came, drove through him like a knife. It rang through his skull, his chest, his feet, as if he were standing beneath a tolling cathedral bell. The shock of that sound rushed through his veins and tingled through his limbs. It touched every corner; it marked every inch. It stained him. Zalbag shuddered and opened his eyes.

Dycedarg was crouched over him. Standing behind him, Ruvelia lowered the royal hunting horn from her lips.

"Mmm." Zalbag's eyes were still blurry. He did not see the tears in his brother's eyes.

"Shhh," Dycedarg said. He had cut open Zalbag's tunic and was examining his chest. "Be still."

"I saw the unicorn."

"I know."

"It was not like it was in stories," Zalbag said.

"There are a lot of different stories," Dycedarg said absently. "You just listened to the wrong ones."

"And now I am dying."

"No," Dycedarg said, bending over him.

Zalbag's hands reached up and smoothed over his own bare chest. He was covered in sticky blood, but beneath that, the skin was smooth and unbroken. One spot on his left breast, right over his heart, was marked by a single numb point of scar tissue.

"Unicorn horns," Dycedarg said, "have peculiar properties."

"What happened to the beast?"

"I killed it," Dycedarg said, and past him, Zalbag could see a gray lump lying headless in the stream.

"I hear riders coming," Ruvelia said grimly.

"Good. Can you stand, brother?"

With his brother's assistance, Zalbag slowly rose and hobbled to his chocobo. When he reached it, he rested his head against the chocobo's neck and panted heavily. There was a strange weight resting against his heart, and Zalbag did not need to examine the severed head in his brother's saddlebag to know that the tip of the unicorn's horn was missing.

Ruvelia remained standing by the stream. She stared down at the misshapen body. "But it attacked him. Why did it attack him? It has not attacked anyone else in these woods. Not ever."

"True virtue is both rare and irresistible, I suppose."

Zalbag could have laughed. Instead, he turned his face to press it completely against the warm feathers of his chocobo's neck. He had no virtue. He had given it all up every morning at chapel.

Against his side, he could feel his brother's arm, firm and strong. "Just wait a little longer, brother. I'm here. Everything will be fine."

Something throbbed deep in his chest, and he began to weep helplessly against the neck of his purring chocobo.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is indebted to E. E. Cummings and Horacio Quiroga.


End file.
